


Guardians and Nations

by ArchangelUnmei



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Amnesia, Crossover, Drabble Collection, Gen, Identity Issues, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-19 15:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelUnmei/pseuds/ArchangelUnmei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of loosely connected drabbles outlining a 'what-if' world where the Guardians and the Nations both exist. Nations cannot really die, but they can be transformed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This started as me wondering if I could justify the "Jack Frost looks like Prussia!" squealing coming from the fandom. There may or may not be more drabbles eventually.

There comes a point when all children grow up and stop believing.

It differs from child to child, but sometime between the ages of eight and thirteen every child stops believing in Santa Claus, stops hunting for eggs on Easter, has no more baby teeth to leave under their pillow. This is a natural progression, all part of growing up. If they're lucky, they keep the wonder and the light they had as children, and even if they don't believe Santa Claus exists, they still believe in _Christmas_ , in hope, and that's enough. Their light fades off of the globe at the North Pole, but there are always plenty of others to replace the ones who grow up. 

And when the children grow up, there's a new set of Guardians ready to watch over them. 

Oh, they don't _call_ themselves Guardians, and as near as North's ever been able to tell, the Moon isn't the one who chooses them. But that's what they do; they guard the hope and peace of all people, not just children. There's a lot of them, spread all around the world, and they protect the people of their geographic area, rather than certain times of the year like North and Bunny do. North is on quite good terms with a few of them; he and Russia meet for drinks every few years when they both manage to find a little free time. 

They're a little bit different than the Guardians, less overtly magical. They're more subtle; they don't use portals or tunnels to travel, they just... arrive where they're needed. They were never human like the Guardians were, they came into being at the same time as the nations they protect, though they don't know how or why. Or at least, none of them have ever hinted to North how they came to be. They don't rely on being believed in. In fact, humans don't know they exist at all. 

"They don't need to know about us," Canada told North once, sitting on the back of a polar bear high in the Northwest Territories, hood lined in beaver fur and heavy snow goggles over his eyes. "As long as they believe in the ideals we stand for, that's enough to keep us strong." 

They call themselves Nations, but North just thinks of them as another class of Guardian, watching over and safe guarding the adults the way North and his comrades protect the children.


	2. The Death of Prussia

In 1945, Prussia fell.

He felt the ice of the Pregel River crack beneath his feet, looked up and saw Russia standing on the ridge above him. He was grinning, wicked and dark and smug and tired and triumphant, and Prussia knew the war was over. 

He could feel it, down in his bones and his guts, feel the defeat creeping over him in the screams of his dying men and his suffering women. But this was different than the (few) defeats he'd suffered before, felt different. The cries of his people felt far away, echoing off into a great expanding nothingness. Their pain sank into his skin, made him feel heavy and chained where always before pain had fed into his anger and energy, driven him on to fight and conquer and avenge. Something was different this time. 

Prussia looked up, met Russia's eyes, saw pity and a weird sort of sadness there. He watched Russia's lips form words, the distance between them too great to hear but the motions easy enough to read. _"Goodbye Пруссия."_

He took a step forward, wanting to reach Russia, to ask why he was saying goodbye, and the ice beneath his boots gave way. 

He sank, the cold of the river sinking into his bones and the voices of the Prussian people disappearing entirely in favour of the river rushing in his ears. Everything was hazy, his vision fading into blue and black, and he realized, finally, what was happening. The cold was dissolving him, the _defeat_ was dissolving him, unmaking him. 

He wasn't human, but Prussia knew he was dying. 

_Do you want to stay?_

He couldn't see anything but a hazy light high above, and even that was fading away. Did he want to stay? That was a stupid question. Of course he wanted to stay. He wasn't ready to dissolve. West still needed him, his people still needed him. If there was no longer any Prussia, what would happen to them? He hated the thought of leaving them to the mercies of Russia or Poland. 

_Very well then. If that is what you wish, you will continue to be... a Guardian._

All he could feel was the cold. 

_You will be... Jack Frost._

Cold and nothing more.


	3. The Birth of Jack Frost

The earliest thing he remembers is the city.

He's standing on the river, the ice solid and strong beneath his boots, the city laid out before him in silent winter majesty. 

Königsberg; he knows the city's name somehow, feels it somewhere inside him the same way he knows his own name. He takes a step, and frost crackles along the edges of his clothing, the hem of the heavy coat and along the lapels, icing over the buttons and rank pips and meaningless medals. He breathes, and his breath condenses in front of him, heavy and cold. 

It's so strange, how cold he is, and how it doesn't matter. He cannot think why cold would be bad, and even as he acknowledges it that thought fades into nothing. Cold is what he _is_ , cold given life and limb. Cold radiates out from the iron cross at his throat, and when he reaches up to touch it, it burns and tingles against his fingertips. 

He takes a few steps across the ice of the river, and then his boots slip out from under him. He yelps, bracing himself, but never hits the ice. He finds himself spiraling upward instead, over the rooftops of the sleeping city, borne by a cold wind at his back. He gets over the shock quickly and laughs at the sheer joy of it, shifting to angle his body and see if he can guide the wind rather than just being carried along. He isn't entirely successful, and the wind drops him into the middle of a city square, the fountain in the middle broken into pieces, scorched black, water leaking out of it to run along the cobblestones. 

For some reason, that makes Jack pause. Something about the fountain, something about the way it's been destroyed, something is wrong. He walks toward it, idly noting the lines of frost that swirl across the cobbles wherever he steps. When he's near enough, he reaches out to touch the edge of the fountain, watches the way it freezes over, swooping frost and solid ice washing away the soot stains. 

Jack raises his head, looking around for the tanks he doesn't know how he knows caused this, but they are long gone. 

Looking at the ruined fountain leaves a sour feeling in his stomach that he can't identify, so he raises a hand to call on the wind again, and lets it carry him away.


	4. A Chance Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently this is developing loose plot. =/
> 
> Past PruCan hinted in this chapter, and there may be future PruCan too.
> 
> And no worries, more of the Guardians characters will be showing up in future.

No matter how long it goes on, Jack never gets used to not being seen.

It's never particularly pleasant, especially not the first time. Something about not being seen shook him down to his core. He's tried everything he can think of, but no one ever looks at him with recognition. No matter how much snow he dumps on them, no one ever looks at him at all. 

That's why it's such a shock when he's strolling down the streets of Ottawa, painting the shop windows with frost and building tiny snow sculptures on window ledges, and someone looks right at him and says his name. 

Part of the shock is probably that it's the _wrong_ name. 

"Prussia," he breathes, eyes wide behind his glasses, Olympic red mittens clasped in front of him. He's staring at Jack like he's seen a ghost. He steps toward Jack, raising one of those mittens to touch him. 

Jack takes a step back, deftly avoiding the hand. He isn't fond of the feeling of people walking through him; it reminds him too much of being shot. (Why he knows what that feels like, he doesn't know.) "You can see me?!" 

The young man's face twists in what looks like pain. "Of course I can- Prussia- Gil, we all thought you were _dead_ -" 

"My name is Jack," Jack says, wondering what the uneasy feeling that has settled into his stomach means. He reaches up reflexively, without thinking, to curl his fingers around the iron cross at his throat. "Jack Frost." 

"Jack Frost?" the young man's voice is shaded with disbelief, and Jack's stomach lurches, suddenly angry. He takes a deep breath, the cross under his fingers burning cold as he breathes out again. Winter wind blows the young man's hair back, and frost crawls across the lenses of his glasses. He squawks in surprise, and by the time he's reached up to pull off his glasses and scrub off the frost, the wind is already carrying Jack away. "Gil!" 

The sadness, the desperation in his voice is so poignant that Jack nearly pauses. Then he shakes his head and continues on his way. 

It isn't until late that night under the moonlight, when he's busy draping pine trees in frost, that he remembers the young man's name. 

Canada. 

Matthew. 

Matt. 

Jack doesn't know who Matthew is or how he knows his name, and when he realizes there are tears freezing down his cheeks, he doesn't understand that either.


	5. An Early Morning Call

Germany has never been fond of being woken up in the middle of the night by a phone call. It happens annoyingly often lately; his new boss seems to think he needs to be informed of every little change to the state of affairs.

So he isn't in the best of moods when his phone begins going off at three in the morning, and he doesn't bother to check the caller ID before he answers and growls a greeting. He isn't expecting a flurry of staccato English. 

"Germany? It's Canada, I- oh tabernac, it's the middle of the night over there, isn't it?" 

"Early morning, actually," Germany sits up in bed, somewhat mollified by Canada's apology. It's far more rare that he gets phone calls from other Nations (except Italy and France), and that means it's probably important. "It's fine. Is something wrong?" 

"Maybe," Canada sounds a little more hesitant now. "Can you tell me what happened to Gilbert, exactly?" 

Germany- Ludwig swallows hard, his stomach twisting oddly. He leans back against the headboard, running a hand through his hair as he stares out into the darkness of his bedroom. He's quiet for so long that Matthew prompts him softly, "Ludwig?" 

"I'm... not sure, Matthew. I wasn't there. Ivan told me he fell through the ice of the Pregel River when the Soviets overran Königsberg, but I didn't find that out until years later. Things were very... tense in Europe for so long, there was no time to look for him. There was never a body found, but with our kind there seldom are." He pauses, hand pressed over his chest. "I felt it, though. I felt the moment his people became mine." 

Matthew is quiet for a long moment. "So there's no chance he survived?" 

Ludwig shakes his head, though he knows Matthew can't see him. "There is no more Prussia." The fact that it's three in the morning compells him to ask, "What put this on your mind?" 

"I saw him," Matthew's voice is still quiet, but Ludwig jerks as though someone had just shot through his window. 

"You _what_?" 

"I saw Gilbert," Matthew repeats, and Ludwig realizes he's holding the phone hard enough that it's threatening to crack and end the call. "I spoke to him, Ludwig. It was Gil." 

"Where is he?" Ludwig's voice comes out far sharper than he means it to, his mind suddenly in a whirl, but Matthew doesn't seem to take offense. 

"I don't know. He didn't recognize me, I don't think he remembers anything about being a Nation. He told me his name is Jack Frost." 

"Jack Frost?" Ludwig's bewilderment must show in his voice, because Matthew continues. 

"I think... it was definitely Gil, but something happened. He's some kind of spirit now. I think it surprised him that I could see him, he frosted over my glasses and the wind carried him away." 

Ludwig lets out a long breath. "I don't know what to think, Matthew." 

"Neither do I," there's a new note in Matthew's voice, one Ludwig recognizes easily. "But I think I know where to go next." 

Determination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With exams next week and the holidays coming up I'm busier than usual, but I know how at least the next couple chapters are going to go, so you may or may not see more updates soon.


End file.
